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Dreaming
Dreaming First of all my name is Victor. I don’t use my name much. Not anymore. I never used to dream much. Not that I can remember anyway. It was always just weird little things like getting up and going to school, sometimes they would show an entire day playing out. All of the lessons, conversations and the journey home. As soon as I got home I would wake up and my real day would start. Like I said, nothing bad ever happened. Nothing sad, no death, no pain, nothing. I do remember one dream though. Something that I couldn’t forget. How could I? It was so horrible and it felt so real. But we’ll get back to that later. So when you’re reading this you are probably thinking that I’m over exaggerating how horrible the dream was and how I will never forget it, it seems stupid and surely I will one day because that’s just how time works. It wasn’t just a dream. You won’t believe me, no-one else does, but just give a chance to explain it in as much detail as possible. Nothing had really happened in my day. I got up went to school and then came home. Nothing special really. I did some homework, had something to eat, watched T.V and then slumped off exhaustedly to bed. There was a bitterly cold air running through my house that night, it crept under the covers and chilled my skin. It felt familiar but I had no idea where from. As quickly as I felt it, it was gone and I drifted off to sleep. I actually dreamed that night. For the first time in years my dormant mind wandered. It was strange. Cobbled streets, stone housed, horses hitched up to posts and shop signs swinging in the wind. That same cold wind I had felt in my room. It felt so real as I walked on the stones, some moving beneath my feet. I continued walking until I reached a town square with a large manor on one side of it. Suddenly guards on horseback surrounded me as the wind picked up leaves around the square. They began to ready their bows and aimed directly at me. I heard the strings strain and creak as they waited for the signal to fire. I raised my hand. The guards panicked but never dropped their aim. I could see the fear in their eyes, and I liked it. Suddenly a huge gust of wind came rushing past my feet. The wind was so strong it tore the guards from their horses, trampled as the horses bolted. I walked past the men as they lay screaming. I continued walking towards the manor. It felt familiar, like I had seen it before. Like I had already been inside. I raised my hand again and the same wind followed. The wooden doors flexed and warped before splintering open. A terrified family huddled in the corner, the tears streaming from their eyes. A man stood in front of me holding a knife. He told me to stay back but I walked towards him. Before I could reach him he dropped the knife and began to turn to run. I grabbed his throat and lifted him up. Then I woke up. I was inside the Mayor’s house. I knew where I was because my friend Charlie is his son. But I wasn’t just in the house. I was holding the Mayor up by his throat. I dropped him and turned to leave the house trying my best to hide who I was but the already knew. How would they not? I stayed over the weekend before. But I just turned. The doors were on the floor, broken and splintered. The doors were old and damaged. They had been repaired hundreds of years after a break in. My great grandfather was a suspect. No-one was ever found. I ran through the town square. I made it to the middle before I saw them. The crumpled bodies of police officers. It was just like my dream but why were they there? Had my mother called to say I was missing? I never found out. I just ran and ran. I stole some clothes from a goodwill bin. My feet were scratched and bruised but that didn’t stop me. I had to get away from town, anyone who knew who I am. My family, friends , everyone. I think I’m safe now. My heart is still pounding and the adrenaline is making me want to push myself further but I can’t. I dream all the time now. Even in the middle of the day. I’m running and then I’m asleep. When I wake up I’ve covered miles. In the dreams I can be riding a horse or just running. Anything really. Anyway I could be moving, I’m doing it. But there is always one recurring thing. My hands. I know it sounds strange but they aren’t just hands, they are my hands. Like it’s me but in all different times, all different people but always somehow me. There isn’t much I can do now but keep moving. I change my name in every town I visit. No-one knows who I am. If you are reading this and you know my story, please don’t try to find me. And please, if you see me, don’t come near me. I could be dreaming and you need to pray you aren’t in it. Like I said, I never used to dream much. Now I do it all the time. A DemonTurtle Tale (talk) 13:41, March 26, 2014 (UTC) Category:Creepypasta Category:Creepypastas Category:Original Story